


Shape

by marginaliana



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF
Genre: Bingo Entry, Challenge fic, Definitely Kinky, M/M, Objectification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 00:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15376512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: Richard likes being made to stay still. Jeremy likes giving him a more concrete purpose.





	Shape

Richard's always been an active person – always jiggling his leg or rolling the ball of his hand across his thigh or tapping fingers on whatever surface is in reach. Not to mention his daily running. He's even an active sleeper, rolling from side to side, sticking his feet unconsciously out from underneath the sheet and then pulling the sheet back again with his toes. 

There's only one time that he's genuinely still, and that's when Jeremy makes him be. And not just makes him be _still_.

"What is it this time?" Richard says, already naked, his voice already a little hoarse. 

"Hmm. Coffee table," says Jeremy. 

Richard groans, then goes down on his hands and knees in front of the sofa. Jeremy goes to get a beer, giving him a little time to adjust; when he comes back, he sits down on the sofa with a thump and reaches out with his free hand to smooth across Richard's back. "More flat." Richard adjusts position until his back is as flat as he can make it.

Jeremy leans back and props his feet on it, then reaches out and sets down his beer, too. It's right in the bare hollow where Richard's arse begins, just enough of an indent to give the can stability. There's no penalty for fucking it up and letting things fall, but Richard wants to do it right and Jeremy wants to give him the chance. 

Richard makes a faint strangled noise, but he doesn't move. Jeremy finds the remote and puts the telly on; he's tempted by a rerun of _Total Wipeout_ , just to be a shit, but unfortunately that means he'd have to watch it too, so he flips past and settles on a documentary about Hannibal crossing the Alps instead.

It's an interesting show, but not quite absorbing enough to make him forget about Richard's smooth skin under his ankles, the way he's beginning to get a little sweaty where they touch. Or the way the room begins to smell like sex as Richard gets more and more aroused.

Jeremy likes the way Richard fights himself in this. He's pretty sure that's part of what it's all about, for Richard – the challenge of not moving but also the challenge of fighting in a way that doesn't involve punching anyone in the face. For himself, he likes… giving Richard a purpose. Just ordering him to be still wouldn't much do it for him, but having a place to put up his feet, having a coat tree, having a table to eat his pudding from. Yeah, that's good. He's been trying to shape Richard for years, in retrospect: nudging his career in the right direction, jibing at him about his hair until he cuts it. It had felt like only a small step from that to this, to shaping Richard with a few words or with his own bare hands, to taking him from decorative object into something more. Richard's old enough to be getting tired of just being a decorative object.

Jeremy lifts one foot and scratches the sole across the back of Richard's head like he might do with the edge of the coffee table, as if he has an itch there. The soft tousle of Richard's hair doesn't quite give the same feeling of scratching it, but it's close enough, and it makes a hitch in his breath that Jeremy can feel. As if one of the table legs was just a bit shorter than the others and the whole thing rocked when he shifted his weight. 

He stops rubbing his foot and sets it down again, then reaches for his beer and takes a long swig. He's beginning to get the buzz that comes from slow arousal. It's not quick, these days – nothing is quick now except for his driving – but he almost likes it more this way, likes to keep the pleasure as long as he can hold onto it. And it means Richard has to wait, too. 

Perhaps some weekend they'll do this all day. Jeremy could set Richard up somewhere and then go out to the pub, to the shops. When he came home hours later Richard would be waiting for him, still being whatever Jeremy had made him be.

The thought makes him hotter and he holds onto it, turning it over in his head. He can picture it – the way Richard would be red-faced and shaking from holding the position, the way he wouldn't look up when Jeremy came in. He'd still be holding the lampshade and the torch over his head, or balancing the box of crisp packets on the shelf of his outstretched arms, or in the bedroom, bent backwards and holding onto the top edge of the dresser so that Jeremy can use his cock as toy to fuck himself on.

The more he thinks about this, the more he wants it. He'll have to convince Richard, of course. Not now – Richard's being a table, and you don't convince one of those. You don't talk to it. 

Then again, Jeremy thinks, maybe he won't try to convince Richard at all. Why break the illusion? Maybe he'll just do it, with the faintest hint of an out. A whisper of "you can stop anytime" before he puts Richard where he wants him and then leaves.

Richard won't stop, of course, not unless he's going to hurt himself. The challenge of staying there – it'll keep Richard going all day if necessary. Keep him going until Jeremy comes home and brings him back to human again. Which is a different kind of shaping, but shaping nonetheless.

Jeremy's fully hard now, breath coming quicker, face flushed. He could pull Richard back, take him into the bedroom and kiss him and fuck him and let this past half hour be enough. But he's not ready for this to be over, he's too greedy for that. Maybe he'll just get himself off right here, come all over his coffee table; maybe he'll be so enthusiastic that he spills his beer. Then he'll have to clean up later, wipe everything off with a damp rag after he's done letting the last of the aftershocks roll lazily through him. Maybe he'll put his feet back up and flip on the telly once again.

_Yeah,_ Jeremy thinks. _Yeah, yes. This now, and then the rest.. the rest sometime soon._ He clicks off the television, ignoring Richard's second hitch of breath, and begins to unzip his jeans.


End file.
